


Happy Groggery Day, Now I Have A Machine Gun!

by Bonymaloney



Series: Groggery Day [1]
Category: Voltron - Fandom
Genre: Coran in Dad Shorts, Coran is a battle butler, Gen, Groggery Day, character injury, space camp - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-05 07:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14039337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonymaloney/pseuds/Bonymaloney
Summary: Coran’s Groggery Day celebrations are rudely interrupted when some Space Pirates try to kidnap Allura. In a game of cat and mouse, he has to single-handedly take out the pirates and save the day.Basically Altean Die Hard.





	Happy Groggery Day, Now I Have A Machine Gun!

Of all the highlights of the Altean calendar, the Groggery Day celebrations had always been Coran’s favourite. Every decaphoeb, a member of the Royal household would gather up the children of the castle, the garrison and the surrounding towns and herd them all to Camp Pollux. There the little and not-so-little tykes would spend the days climbing and swimming, training to face the gladiator, and learning to build emergency rockstorm shelters - with a prize for the most aesthetically pleasing, this was Altea after all. Coran had loved it ever since he was a little boy, and now, as newly-appointed Royal Advisor, he got to run the show. 

In the evenings the activities were quieter. They composed songs and poems about the victories they had won that day, and made compliment cards decorated with brightly coloured paper and beads, to give to their parents on Groggery Day itself. They slept under the stars, with Coran pointing out constellations and satellites and notable ships, until they were drowsing all around him, curled up together like a pack of yalmors. 

Coran ran the activities of the camp like a well oiled machine, striding about in a tunic in the Wimbleton-Smythe family colours, short pants with pockets (he liked his uniform, but it was nice to get some air on his legs for once), and his comfortable old Space Squad boots. He praised their achievements, listened to all their secret fears, and kept his eye out for any that showed a particular aptitude as alchemists or warriors. And then, on the final evening, came his time to shine. 

His little campers were sitting in a circle, the firelight shimmering on their stripes, gazing up at him wide-eyed. They were all clutching phrolarts; the traditional campfire snack, consisting of lightly toasted food goo, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, sandwiched between two scaltrite cookies. The Princess was right in the middle, waving excitedly. Coran stifled a grin and swept up to the fireside with a dramatic flourish. 

“Good evening, brave Alteans. This Groggery Day Eve, do you dare journey with me through the Patrulian Zone, face the White Lion, and hear the tale of how King Groggery himself discovered... Oriande?”

It was the traditional story that was told every year, and yet he was still met with a delighted cheer. And so they should, he thought. All Alteans valued storytelling, but Coran was a master of the art, with sound effects and a light show all cued up and ready to go, and a papier-mâché Castleship that he was particularly proud of. He cleared his throat, twirled his moustache, and began. 

“Thousands of decaphoebs ago, when the universe was still strange and new and King Groggery wanted to learn all of its secrets...”

“...and the Kings shuttle rode the gravitational waves, dodged and dived and darted around the asteroids, hurtled through the white hole, and - whoosh! - Oriande lay before them!”

As he spoke, lights swooped low overhead, flashing dimly. The fire flickered and their hair stirred, as though in the downdraft of a large ship, and the children gasped in wonder. 

Coran frowned. That wasn’t one of his effects. And judging by the sound of the engines, it wasn’t even Altean.

As an officer in the Space Squad, Coran had had his fair share of encounters with the Space Pirates. Generally, they would flee from open combat with an Altean vessel, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be sneaky. A surprise attack on the eve of Groggery day itself was a new low, however. They had to be after the Princess. 

Camp Pollux was in an unpopulated part of Altea. It would be several vargas before help arrived, if the Castle even knew the Pirates were here - the fact that they had managed to fly in so low suggested they had managed to evade the defensive scanners. Coran would have to have serious words with his guardsmen when he got back...

“Right then, youngsters!” he called, trying to inject a note of cheerfulness into his voice. “The next part of the story takes place over here... behind these large rocks! Let’s all be really quiet, like Groggery trying to sneak past the White Lion...”

Once he had them all crouching with as low a profile as possible, he needed to scout the area. 

“King Groggery is going to explore now! I will return shortly to guide you to safety, but in the mean time... there’s a prize for the person who is best at hiding!”

It wasn’t his best work, Coran grimaced, but it would have to do at such short notice. He quickly stoked up the fire, and then arranged several crates and sacks around it, hoping that they might from a distance look like people sitting around a campfire. He tied his hair back and then slipped into the trees towards the sound of the retro rockets firing.

Coran had little to no magical talent, but he had gone far in the Space Squad by being quick and smart, with the ability to intuit what other were thinking. For a moment or two he let himself believe he might stand a chance. But as he crouched in his hiding place in the darkness and counted them as they moved past him, he felt his heart sink. Five of them. It was how he would have arranged things; one to call the shots, two to subdue the prisoner, two for - he swallowed - crowd control. Plus at least one pilot, remaining on board for a speedy getaway. Worst of all, the shot caller was a pirate Coran recognised. Caelynn the Blue, leader of the most brutal gangs it had ever been his misfortune to encounter. 

He knew what he had to do. 

The first one was easy. The pirates might be bloodthirsty, but they were an undisciplined bunch, wouldn’t have lasted five minutes under Coran’s old sargeant. It was quick work for him to pick off a straggler, bop him on the head with a handy branch, and then conceal his body in the undergrowth. Disguised in the pirate’s greasy leathers, he was able to stroll onto the shuttle, and by the time the pilot noticed, it was too late and the self-destruct was engaged. It would all have been so easy, if it wasn’t for the terrified voice in the back of his head wondering about what was happening to the children, to the princess...

He forced himself to keep moving, diving into some bushes just as the pirates came charging up to find out what had happened to their ship. 

Coran peeled off his leather jacket as he made his way back to his charges. 

“Ok kids!” He was very aware of his frizzy, slightly singed hair, the streaks of soot on his face, but he forced a grin on his face and a lighthearted tone into his voice. “The comet just came crashing down and it caused such a big explosion that it hid all the ancient paintings beneath a cloud of dust! We need to, ah, we need to climb the trees! If we climb the trees we’ll be able to see where we’re going. Big ones help the little ones now...”

Once they were off the ground, Coran felt a little better. He moved through the treetops back towards the camp fire. It was still burning brightly, hopefully providing a focal point to lure the pirates to attack. Coran was not quite as muscular as he had been in his prime, but still a substantial weight to land between the shoulder blades of a pirate beneath him...

Three down, three to go. And now, he had a weapon.

His next stealth attack didn’t quite go to plan. Maybe it was the tension getting to him, maybe he was just losing his touch. He scolded himself mentally as the branch broke underfoot and the pirate ahead of him span round, raising their weapon as they turned, and Coran felt as though he’d been suddenly punched in the shoulder. His left arm was heavy as he returned fire, and as the hooded figure before him crumpled to the ground he suddenly realised his sleeve was soaked with blood. 

He pulled his tunic off and tore it into strips to fashion a makeshift bandage. The other pirates would have his location now, he needed to move, regardless of how tired and heavy he suddenly felt. 

He stumbled into a clearing and there they were in front of him, the pirate captain and her sidekick. Coran fired and Caelynn dropped. They would be queuing up in the Space Squad mess to buy him a drink, if he ever made it home. He turned and raised his rifle again... click. 

Empty.

At the worst possible moment, Allura and a raggle-taggle bunch of the older kids came bursting out of the trees, yelling adorably high pitched battle cries and wielding branches like spears. Coran’s heart simultaneously melted and sank. It was so like her to try and defend him. But now, unarmed and injured, he was the only thing standing between the Princess and the pirate.

The story said that King Groggery had to sacrifice himself to the Lion in order to find his path. Coran swallowed. 

He ignored the pain in his shoulder and forced himself to move forward, charging the pirate, protecting the children with his body. The pirate raised his rifle, and he squeezed his eyes tight shut. Dying in the service of the Royal Family was an honourable way for a Wimbledon-Smythe to go, but that didn’t help with the terror pounding in his chest and rushing in his ears...

A whirring sound, a thud, and then Coran realised he wasn’t dead. He cautiously opened one eye, then the other. The pirate was dead, skewered to a tree by an arrow. The Queen swiftly nocked another to her bow, while Alfor charged forward at the head of a squad of guardsmen, sword in hand. 

“Allura! My daughter... are you alright?” He embraced her warmly, then turned to Coran. 

Coran felt lightheaded. His shoulder was throbbing in time with his pulse, and every beat made him feel sicker and weaker. Alfor put his arms around his shoulders and supported him towards a waiting shuttle. His vision was closing down, but he could vaguely see the guardsmen helping the children into the belly of the shuttle... Allura running alongside her mother, imperiously demanding to be allowed to stay in the cockpit... the Queen, climbing behind the controls...

He lay with his head in Alfor’s lap. The King stroked his hair, caressing gently behind his ear just like he loved, then gave him a mouthful of something herbal and foul tasting to drink. 

“You don’t have any nunvil?” he croaked, but Alfor just laughed. The pain in his shoulder was receding, the warmth and the scent of Alfor all around him. Coran closed his eyes and slept.


End file.
